


"When you smile..."

by sshysmm



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Married Life, Music as a love language, Musicians, Post-Book 6: Checkmate (Lymond Chronicles), Prompt Fill, Singing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt, the band Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22990300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm
Summary: Francis reveals a new song he's written for Philippa.Originally posted on tumblr.
Relationships: Francis Crawford of Lymond and Sevigny/Philippa Somerville
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Lymond fics set in the Band/'80s AU





	"When you smile..."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Erinaceina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erinaceina/gifts).



Summoned for a private hearing of the new song, Philippa sat cross-legged on the grotty studio sofa, a pillow hugged to her stomach. She always felt like she ought to dress up for Francis’s performances, like she should show what importance she accorded them by, well, at least by putting some clothes on and brushing her hair. One couldn’t be expected to don full evening gown and jewels when called at a moment’s notice, even if it might have more accurately have reflected the significance she felt each time he was ready to share new solo material with her, but this time he had lured her to the studio with coffee and breakfast before explaining that the new song was ready.

The secrecy around it was part of what she relished, too. When they worked together it was intense, all-consuming: writing sessions that saw them practically living in the studio, accumulating plates and mugs around them and frequently emerging with three songs for every one they had set out to write. Alone, Philippa followed a neat routine of research, country walks, experiment and play; Francis disappeared into similar rituals, and neither of them shared their workings until they were ready. In that way, they created sounds unique to themselves, and one unique to their unison, and neither would have it any other way.

He stood before her, as sleep-rumpled as she felt, running a hand through chaotic blond hair in between checking the tuning of his acoustic guitar. His t-shirt was several sizes too large for his lithe body, faded and worn like his jeans, bearing a cracked old transfer print of a winking Queen of Hearts playing card.

Finally, he ceased fidgeting and looked up at her with steady blue eyes. He hadn’t put his glasses on that morning and he squinted a bit at her, his long mouth quirking and making his cheek dimple.

“This one is long overdue,” he said very softly, and the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes made Philippa squirm with anticipation. She bit her lip and looked at him expectantly.

The riff he started to play was in a swaggering 7/4 beat: a stumbling pulse, a missing word on the tip of a tongue. Philippa’s expression was one of wonderment as he braided notes together into something that commanded its listeners to dance and then confounded them into tripping over their own feet.

The lyrics made her squeeze the cushion tight to her body. Francis sang with his eyes mostly downcast, demure, hidden behind shy amber lashes, but now and then they flickered up to make their point as he sang:

“ _When you smile, I fall apart_.”

And each time he sang the refrain, Philippa smiled and half-hid her smile in the cushion with an excitement that was not quite the same as guilt, and Francis smiled as he sang, and it made his voice curl with warmth, and Philippa’s belly fizzed with warmth, and her smile widened.


End file.
